


All My Kablooms

by strifechaos



Category: Hobbs & Shaw (2019)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Basically a Step-Dad Deckard Shaw, But she is, Domestic Fluff, F/F, F/M, Florist & Tattoo AU, Found Family, Get Together, I'm not saying Sam is going to Parent Trap Luke and Deck, M/M, Miscommunication, Modern AU, Oblivious Deckard, Oblivious Luke, Pranks, Shaw Sibs, Tattoos, Tropes, florist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:20:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29397570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strifechaos/pseuds/strifechaos
Summary: Luke is trying to balance being a single father and running a suddenly booming tattoo shop. He doesn't need his sister's matchmaking with the cute florist next door to his tattoo parlor. Lisa is having zero of that, and a surprising visit from his distant brother is about to put his simple life in a tailspin.Deckard is just trying to keep a quiet and peaceful life in order, running his flower shop with his sister and staying out of his mum's crosshairs for giving her grandchildren. But his younger brother's penchant for trouble and an ex that has suddenly refused to stay in the past create some unexpected challenges for the Brit, who before was just trying to avoid the hunky tattoo artist father of Deckard's floral apprentice.-0-The Florist & Tattoo Shop AU no one asked for but won't leave my brain.
Relationships: (Past) Deckard Shaw/Brixton Lore, Hattie Shaw/Ramsey, Luke Hobbs/Deckard Shaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	All My Kablooms

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Hobbs & Shaw, FF or the Expendables. This is purely for fun and not profit.
> 
> A couple years back some friends were gushing about some fun prompts for the H&S fandom and my brain absolutely latched onto the concept of Luke and Deckard running a tattoo parlor and florist shop, respectively and sprouted this crazy fun trope filled story. This is purely for fun, so I did some light research but I don't know the ins and outs of tattoo shops or floral businesses, so please forgive any mistakes or errors I made on how those work, again this is just for fun. About 31k of this story has been hibernating on my hard drive but I'm trying to get better about posting fic instead of just day dreaming about headcanons, so here goes nothing!
> 
> No beta, we die like men!
> 
> If you like the content, please leave a kudos or comment! Thanks.

Luke Hobbs is a man with a plan. 

While the sun is still being a lazy ass, he’s already made it halfway through his morning run; his aim is to be back home before Samantha, his daughter, wakes up for school. It makes for an extremely early start but the cool crisp air greets him as his shoes smack rhythmically against the pavement. 

As his path takes him around a corner and the steady beat of his feet centers him, helps shake off the last of the night’s mental fog and he needs all the help he can get today. As the manager of Nowhere, the best damn tattoo parlor in LA, Luke is responsible for the quarterly inventory being completed by the end of the day. It’s the drudgery side of the business in his opinion, organizing the paperwork for the vendors and checking that everyone has been using the system for requesting supplies properly but Luke knows it needs to be done.

Wilkes, Fusco and even Tool’s idiot apprentice are all scheduled to come in early to help get the bulk of the job done. Luke typically likes to stay more on top of the shop’s deadlines but the last month had been slammed with top priority jobs, celebrity clients and well-known influencers left the staff with barely enough time to go home, shower and eat, overtime was off the charts but Mr. Nobody, the shop’s owner, didn’t want good work turned away. If there were customers looking for ink, he wanted their business. 

Overtime was normally a premium commodity that Luke rationed out for his employees, challenging them to work with Fusco to better optimize their schedules before granting it but even Elena, his prior apprentice, had managed to book several appointments in the rush.

It was great from a money standpoint, the more tattoos the artists were doing the more business they brought in but if they couldn’t get a better handle on what supplies they needed to order, then no one would be tattooing full stop. 

He’d expected the sudden uptick in business to swing back, trickle down to the normal thrum of customers, and had counted on getting the inventories done during a slow afternoon shift. That way no one had to turn down an appointment or bust into the overtime budget, but surprisingly they’d been pretty slammed.

That also meant though, the inventory for this quarter was bound to be an absolute mess and Luke didn’t want to cut into the shop’s budget or come up short like last quarter, when he’d had Mac do the inventory after his clients had cancelled for the day but he still needed to make up for his booth rental that month. 

Mac conned Fusco into helping him with the inventory between the other man’s appointments but they’d done a piss poor job of it and Elena ended up pissed because the two had skipped inventorying the small sized gloves, and she’d been forced to reschedule a few clients until Hobbs had made them to go out and pick up more stock for her. It was an easy fix but Luke preferred when the shop ran smooth and his employees did their jobs the right way the first time.

The office side of the business is not the type of work that Luke considered when he’d agreed to become the manager at Nowhere but he wanted the shop to be successful and their recent big break seems to have set them on the road toward that goal.

So here he was, chasing the moon to clear his head so that he could make sure that once he was at work he could focus on getting the crew to pull together and keep the numbers side of the business in order; because after Fusco and Mac’s screw up last time, Luke wasn’t confident in leaving the job in the hands of the shop’s only apprentice, Mr. Nobody’s stepson. The kid was still green as baby shit when it came to how things worked in a tattoo shop and Luke didn’t want to consider what the idiot would do if he was left on his own to count the stock.

An early morning jog to clear his head and just move--the distance wasn’t important; his primary aim was to get his blood pumping, kick start his metabolism, and to get out of his own head for a while before he had to manage his team at work for the day.

If he happened to go a couple miles out of his normal route to stop by Rico’s Diner, well it wasn’t a bad stop for joggers in the morning, being that it was open 24-hrs. If Luke also happened to know it was Shaw’s morning tea stop, that information was neither here nor there. 

Nor was the fact that the British bastard was at the counter when Luke pushed into the diner, sipping said drink.

“Hey Baldy-locks, Tego wise up and poison your tea yet?” Luke grinned, pushing up to the counter next to Shaw and leaning into the smaller man’s personal space.

Shaw turned and glared; face pinching into an extra pissy expression as he lowered his mug. He took an exaggerated breath and then reared back, pinching his nose and wafting his other hand in front of his face.

“If he was going to bother poisoning anyone it’d be you, donkey face, for smelling up his place of business. People are trying to eat here, you sweaty hog.”

Luke crowds further into the midget’s personal space and asks “Did his majesty want some bacon this morning?” 

Luke swears the brit’s cheeks pink up, and he counts it as a win despite Deckard swearing him out and threatening him with bodily harm if he doesn’t get his “stinky, sweaty troll body away from him before he starts to projectile vomit”.

The chuckle bounces out of Luke’s chest and he’s sporting a giant grin for the rest of his job, pleased that the extra effort to sync up his jog with Deckard’s schedule was well worth it.

-0-0-0-

Deckard strives to be a man of routine; it makes his days predictable but his work precise.

The precision keeps him on schedule, especially during peak florist seasons throughout the year, typically big holidays or during the wedding season. 

Kablooms’ current dread is Homecoming. Right around the corner, two of the local high schools have contracted them for floral displays for their venues, six more for general supply of carnations for Spirit Weeks, a local church is doing a sermon for mothers and wants little bouquets put together for each family in the parish, and the local hospital is putting on a dinner for the NICU volunteers and has placed several orders; so far Kablooms has had a steady influx in business for the past month. 

The two local high schools Homecoming dances also led to an uptick in online orders from kids’ attending the dances, overfilling the business’ inbox in droves. 

Deckard, in an effort to avoid negative yelp reviews, has tried to keep on top of the online orders, so that the store can avoid inattentive parents ringing at all hours about how their teenager nicked their credit card and how they need to cancel the extravagant order their kid made. 

Kablooms has been operating for over a decade, so Deckard’s had his fair share of customers backing out of payment after the store’s purchased the stock for their order and the business having to eat the expense or getting creative in how they use the extra stock. Unfortunately, with the recent expansion of Greenhouse Three though, the profit margin for the store is much narrower than usual; it won’t be for several quarters before the profits from the plants in that greenhouse will pay for the installation, let alone the up keep. 

So his sister and only full-time employee, Hattie, has been on Callback Duty all week. She’s been making follow up calls for any online orders that have been placed, specifically targeting those for Homecoming pick-up dates, to help avoid a repeat of last year’s fiasco with false orders.

In his efforts to maintain a strict schedule, Deckard wakes up by 6 am every morning, nips in for a quick shower before cooking himself an omelet. Being a small local business owner, Deckard tries to support other small businesses, so after breakfast he heads to Rico’s 24-hr diner for a cup of tea, using the time to review Kablooms’ orders from the previous day and working out what he needs to accomplish for the day.

The next stop on his schedule is Dignity Square, having reviewed the inventory for the shop and what orders Kablooms has, he meets up with the floral vendors and contractors so he can personally verify his daily orders; load the shop’s van with anything extra that catches his eye and head over to Kablooms to get everything ready for business that day.

Then it’s getting the business ready to open!

-0-

The morning had been promising, he’d only just settled into a nice meditative review for the day, enjoying the last of his tea before he was rudely interrupted by the sweaty buffoon that runs the tattoo parlor next door to his florist shop.

Hobbs rolls in, decked out for a job in shorts that cling to his thighs and arse, and a sweaty dark tank top, all straining from containing the bulky muscles within. The dark ink that’s emblazoned across Hobbs’ arms and chest draw Deckard’s eye, more so than usual as the man crowds into his personal space. Deckard licks his lips and feeling bizarrely thirsty, lifts his tea mug for a drink.

To distract himself from the inane desire to trace Hobbs’ tattoos with his tongue, Deckard blasts the man for being smelly and annoying Rico’s other patrons; well aware that if Hobbs smelled any better than Deckard would be making a right fool of himself by shoving his face into the crook of the other man’s neck. God, why did this gleaming bastard have to go and ruin Deckard’s composed frame of mind by showing up at his morning spot, dripping with sweat, body throwing off enough heat and pheromones to turn a bus full of nuns’ heads, black ink standing out on his smooth brown skin, muscles rippling and threatening to burst through his flimsy clothes?

It was the height of being inconsiderate, mostly to Deckard’s peace of mind but also for the other diners, and Deckard isn’t above being petty and pointing the latter fact out to Hobbs.

Thankfully, once the bald gorilla exits the diner, Deckard is able to place a To-Go order for tea and return back to his detailed schedule. Fuck Hobbs and his attempt at goading Deckard with invading his personal space, as if anyone outside of a fucking Greek tragedy needed to have that many muscles.

-0-0-0-

By the time Deckard reaches Dignity Square, the fairground is already alive with movement, a cacophony of riotous sound and noise. The field is crowded with vendor booths, tents, vans and trucks. Sellers yelling out at passing customers, people are shouting to be heard as they haggle, trucks and vans are roaring to life as the plants are loaded and unloaded, people loading up their purchases in buckets and crates to haul them away. 

By the time Deckard is cutting through the masses to get to his preferred vendor, s handful of well-established vendors have already started to break down their booths, finished for the day at the Square, despite it being barely half passed six.

The overpowering floral scent wreaths the air, Deckard doesn’t even detect the deep fryers from the single booth selling apple fritters and donuts until he’s standing directly in front of it, the line grumbling as they shift so he can pass by as they wait for their coffee and donuts. 

He keeps an eye out for any particularly stunning blooms along the way, and reminds himself that he’s already had an omelet and doesn’t need a deep fried apple fritter, with a satisfying mix of thick crispy cinnamon glaze on the outside and a perfectly soft airy inside. If Hobbs little appearance at Rico’s was a sign of anything, it’s that Deckard should probably pencil in a gym workout that evening and not indulge his Shaw Sweet Tooth.

Margarita or M as she’s known to her closer circle, is Deckard’s preferred vendor for flowers. Even this early in the morning, her section is overflowing with customers, the tent’s logo and name somewhat obscured by the buckets holding their remaining wares, but Deckard can just barely see the crimson ‘Madam M’ splashed against the black tent canvas, and an oversized dahlia pink and white pinnata emblazoned next to the business’ name. 

Her network for greenery is the envy of the fairgrounds, but her brutal efficiency in running her enterprise is what drew Deckard’s initial attention and kept his business.

She runs herd over a large section of their floral community of LA, with global contacts that have helped Kablooms out of a tight spot or two, in the past. This morning she has a couple of new customers on the hook when he finally arrives at her tent. 

Even with Hobbs’ distraction earlier, Deckard has a few spare minutes to watch from the shadows as the newbies act like they have a chance of being successful in haggling for a lower price, not realizing the cutthroat they’re dealing with is when it comes to money or business. M doesn’t joke when it comes to business, but she will occasionally play with her food.

Deckard’s attention eventually towards the hive of women weaving around one another in the tent; the teamwork is dizzying as they keep up with the fast paced demand to collect various plants, label and package orders, or prep orders for shipment, all the while answering stray questions that customers pepper them with as they keep up with their assignments. 

Floral stock from Madam M’s is always in high demand, but her employees are competent and well-trained in all their duties.

When the Queen Bee’s eyes finally do land on him, she imperviously gestures for her second-in-command, Joana, to take over the conversation with the two businessmen before she glides over to give Deckard a kiss on the cheek and a heart stopping smile.

“Deckard, my favorite handsome florist, what are you looking for this morning?” 

Her grin stretches red lips into a predator’s smile as she wraps an arm around his waist and leans fully against his side, peering down at the tablet he holds up in his hands.

Returning her smile with a brief one of his own, he doesn’t dissuade her from leaning against him or invading his space. She’s one of the few people he trusts to get close without worrying the wrong message will be sent. “M, my sweet, I’ve got a challenge for you today.” 

He swipes across the tablet screen and pulls up the inventory list and starts to go over what he’s looking for from her stock.

They go back and forth over the add-ons and special requests that have come into his store since they spoke yesterday, over when he’ll need certain plants by and if M will be able to accommodate the timetables and who to talk to if she can’t.

Despite the warm greeting and extended body contact, M is always shrewd in her business, refusing to allow sentiment to cloud her judgment; so Deckard isn’t surprised when she demands an additional 10% for the more challenging plants, and haggles over delivery fees with him. Deckard agrees with the specialty orders price bump, but their tradition for arguing over delivery fees continues until Deckard promises to bring M a bottle of Magdalene’s moonshine next month when it’s been bottled up. 

It’s a fair start to the long day Deckard has ahead of him and he feels pretty accomplished so far.

Until he tries to park his van at Kablooms and another vehicle is already in his spot.

0-0-0

End Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> More to come, I just wanted to get the ball rolling on posting this story.
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos, let me know what you liked!


End file.
